


Target Practise

by brookebond



Series: 007 Fest 2017 [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: BAMF Q, M/M, Threats, bond really should have known better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-21 12:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookebond/pseuds/brookebond
Summary: Q has found a different way to relieve stress.





	Target Practise

**Author's Note:**

> To kick of 007fest with a bang, I thought I'd post this one first!  
> It's had a cursory glance over by a few people but hasn't been properly beta'd. I hope you all still like it!  
> It's a fun little thing to kick July off!

“I have never met anyone more arrogant in my entire life,” Q huffed, fighting every urge in his body that screamed at him to throw the cellphone against the nearest wall.

He had recently stuck up a picture of Bond, a bullseye circling his smarmy face. It was surprisingly motivating when it came to target practice. Q’s aim was improving vastly and he had even been contemplating putting up a series of them—one for every double-oh agent—so the minions would have a reason to work on their marksmanship. He was fairly certain he could get M and Tanner to both turn a blind eye over it. They had told him to do whatever was necessary to boost morale in Q-branch.

“It’s been three months, I thought you’d be used to him by now,” Eve commented as she examined her nails. It was a move designed to make Q feel more comfortable but he could see the trick beneath it.

Eve was fishing.

“I don’t think there is anyone in the world that could get used to 007,” Q said as he rounded the desk, setting his cellphone down with more care than he normally would. He was still fighting the urge to break something but he was finding it less demanding. Maybe a few darts to Bond’s face would satisfy the desire itching beneath his skin.

“Speak of the devil,” Eve muttered at the same time a hush fell over Q-branch.

Q groaned and busied himself with the latest weapons blueprints R&D had sent down. Nothing was up to snuff, though. Q had already looked over everything—including the prototype knife—when it arrived that morning and had made his notes, there was nothing left to look at. But Bond didn’t need to know that.

“Demoted again, Eve?” Bond teased as he leaned against Q’s desk, making himself at home in that sprawling way that Q couldn’t help but notice.

“One can dream,” Eve said wistfully. “The Black Dog, six o’clock. Don’t be late this time, Q.”

“Maybe if the double-oh’s didn’t insist on destroying everything in sight, I could keep to a schedule,” Q sniped, not bothering to look up from the blueprints.

“It was hardly my fault—”

“If you mention that bloody komodo dragon again, I won’t be held responsible for what happens next,” Q threatened, fingers twitching closer to the prototype knife as he glanced over his glasses at Bond.

Even with butterfly stitches holding his cheek together, Bond was ridiculously attractive. The unfortunate thing was that he knew it as well, if his swagger was anything to go by.

“Well now that you mention it.”

“So help me, 007.”

“Or what?” Bond purred.

The urge the break something rose, taking over his higher brain function. “Or you might leave in a bodybag.”

“It really was a matter of life or death. The komodo dragon—”

Q’s fingers closed over the knife and he was moving before he really knew what was happening.

The knife sailed through the air, landing right in the centre of Bond’s pretty picture.

“You just stabbed something,” Bond said, his mouth dropping open. Q couldn’t figure out if it was in awe or horror.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t you,” Q threatened, walking over and pulling the knife out of the wall.

“It was my face, though,” Bond helpfully pointed out when he regained control of his jaw.

“Only a picture,” he said, brows raised as he flipped the knife between his fingers. It was showy, of course, but Q needed to do something with his hands. If he didn’t occupy them, there was every possibility he was going to wrap his fingers around Bond’s throat.

“Do you have one for every agent, or am I just special?”

Q glared at Bond, setting the knife on top of the stack of papers he was supposed to be going through. “If you aren’t going to be useful, I’ll have to remove you from Q-branch.”

“I’d like to see you try, Quartermaster.”

Q stared at Bond, head tilted to the side as he took stock; Bond was injured from his last mission. Medical had sent a report detailing Bond’s injuries: two broken ribs, lacerations to the right cheek, and a fractured toe. Q stood every chance of having the upperhand against Bond in his current state. But, despite how much Q wanted to wipe that smirk off Bond’s face, the double-oh agents were off limits.

“I really don’t think you’re in any kind of position to be testing my limits,” Q commented. He was trying to remain calm, not allowing the desire to break something the freedom to overwhelm him. Q was in control of himself. He could handle a snarky double-oh. He did so on a daily basis.

“I can think of a few positions I’d like to test,” Bond murmured.

“Honestly, 007,” Q huffed, shaking his head and walking to his office, hoping to deter Bond from following him, but the double-oh didn’t get the hint.

“I know you’re interested.”

“Do you require something for your medical leave? I can offer you some games to play on your phone,” Q said, ignoring Bond’s flirting. It was easier to pretend like it wasn’t happening than give in, Q had learned that within the first week. Bond was an insatiable flirt and Q wasn’t any different than Debra in HR.

Everyone got the same ‘Bond’ treatment.

“I was hoping you might tend to my wounds.”

“Oh for the love of—” Q sighed heavily, pushing his glasses up as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I already have plans.”

“Cancel them,” Bond murmured, his breath ghosting over the back of Q’s neck, making him shiver.

“Eve will know something is up,” Q said, valiantly trying not to give in.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something. You’re very… creative.” Bond’s fingers traced along the top of Q’s collar, causing him to shiver again.

“Your ribs,” he protested.

“I’ve had worse.” Bond’s hand shifted higher, his fingers twisting into Q’s curls. “Come home with me,” he purred into Q’s ear.

It was a lost cause. Q’s simmering anger had been replaced by curling tendrils of arousal. “I’ll have to do all the work.”

“I’ll find a way to repay you.” Bond tugged on Q’s hair just enough to gain access to Q’s neck, pressing kisses from his collar to his ear. “I promise.”


End file.
